


Proving Honor

by AbleG



Series: The Dragonborn Comes [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, silver hand being assholes, some gore for werewolves, spooky draugr attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 18:39:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbleG/pseuds/AbleG
Summary: Airgiod and Farkas begin their descent into Dustman's Cairn for the fragments of Wuuthrad, and they discover that they aren't the first to have disturbed the "eternal" rest of the ancient Nords put to rest in the crypts. Even so, their predecessors are the very least of their worries.





	1. The Trial Begins

**Author's Note:**

> part SEVEN
> 
> Wow, a new part out already?! Yeah... yeah I know. It's crazy. I'm just eager to get this ball rolling again. And I'm also reviewing my work and editing it so I can keep up with the themes. Might as well upload as I go.
> 
> I remember this chunk being fun to write. I love writing for battle-type scenes. And for danger and death! So exciting!! And there's plenty of danger and death in all of those barrows and cairns all over Skyrim, amirite?? Ha ha haaaaaa, yeah Skyrim is one deadly and fucked up place.
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: I'm making this part into chapters and changing the name. It made more sense to do it this way. Hope no one is confused as a result.

The road to Dustman’s Cairn was mostly uneventful, filled mostly with Farkas trying his best to string together fragments of what he knew about the Companion’s history for Airgiod. Vilkas was far better suited for this task than he, but Farkas knew too well that Vilkas would not assist in this task. Luckily, Airgiod didn’t seem to mind the holes in Farkas’s memory, or the jumbled way he explained the tale. Ysgramor started the Companions, and Wuuthrad was the weapon he wielded. If Airgiod did well enough and proved his honor, then he would join the Companions. It was simple enough for both of them.

Farkas and Airgiod made it across the plains just as the darkening sky began to open up and a chilled rain fell, soaking the landscape in a dreary downpour. Farkas opened the door to the cairn and Airgiod slipped inside quickly. They were both eager to escape the weather before it froze their bones and numbed their hands. They both knew what to expect deep within an ancient Nord burial site.

Farkas shook out his damp hair like a dog, causing Airgiod to move on ahead to the entry chamber without him. Airgiod had been gifted a set of traditional Companion armor, decorated with dark fur and figures of wolves. Airgiod was absolutely charmed by his gift, and had treated it with such reverence as he had suited himself up with it. He wore it proudly. Too proudly. He was hesitant about dirtying it in any way. If Airgiod was to complete his Trial and take his place among the Companions, his wolf armor would have to become very dirty indeed.

Farkas moved to catch up, in case Airgiod was spurred on by the quest for glory, but Airgiod stopped and looked around the ancient room. Farkas stood beside him and looked as well.

A fire and a cookpot sat in the corner of the room. The fire was still burning with gusto, so someone must have added wood to it recently. Along the sides of the room, where the first sarcophagi should have laid to guard the rest of the burial, the lids had been forced open and ancient, mummified corpes rested where they had fallen. Airgiod moved to inspect the bodies, a hand on his sword just in case. Farkas walked forward to the embalming table where a pickaxe and a book rested. Both were too new to have been relics. He carefully picked up the book and looked it over.

“Looks like someone’s been digging here. And recently.” Farkas announced, tossing the book over to Airgiod who caught it and started to page through it with great curiosity. He then turned his attention back to the corpse at his feet, and his brow furrowed.

“Tell me again, how did the Companions find out about this fragment that was so close to Whiterun this whole time?” Airgiod looked over at Farkas. 

Not understanding why Airgiod needed a second explanation, or why it mattered, Farkas shrugged a shoulder. “A smart man came and told us about a blade piece.”

“And Skjor thought he was a fool…” Airgiod said softly, more to himself than to Farkas. He shut the book quickly and stuffed it into his bag. “I think it would be wise to trust Skjor’s instincts now.”

That was enough for Farkas to understand, at least. He nodded to Airgiod. “Tread lightly.”  
The two of them proceeded down the second set of stairs more cautiously, listening for any sign of movement or life further inside the cairn. The air grew more damp and stale as they proceeded into the catacombs where the ancient warriors were laid to rest. Centuries of wear had reduced parts of the cairn to nothing but caved in rubble, but most of it still stood intact. It was built to last in order to preserve the warriors entombed here. They passed more shriveled bodies littering the floor as they went, becoming more and more wary. They both knew that the lack of life inside of an ancient crypt was a far worse sign.

Airgiod turned a corner, pulling out his greatsword on instinct alone. Farkas followed him slowly, but froze when they both heard a noise like a dusty cough echo off of the stone walls. Behind Airgiod, tucked into the wall in what should have been eternal slumber, a pair of ghostly blue eyes suddenly opened and a sword came swinging down to hew Airgiod’s head from his body. Farkas stepped forward and blocked the heavy blow as a face leaned from the shadows to meet his. It was gruesome. The grey, leathery skin was drawn tightly over the creature’s skull as the moisture from it’s body had left it long ago. In place of a nose, there was only a black cavern, and it’s lips had been drawn back so that its teeth were permanently beared in a ghoulish, almost mocking fashion. The crack of unused bones gyrating after what could have been centuries of rest met Farkas’s ears as the head was cocked to the side at an unnatural angle in observation. 

Farkas stared into the glowing eyes of the draugr as it parted its jaws and roared. Using this chance, Farkas pushed away the weapon of the draugr and took a step back. If he had any fear of ruining Airgiod’s chance at valor, it was dispelled in an instant. As if in answer to the first long dead warrior’s call, more of the bodies crawled out of the walls and corners, their ancient weapons at the ready and their rotting armor hanging loosely on their shrunken bodies. Airgiod blocked a blow from a rusted battleaxe, and threw his opponent back against the wall where he then cut into the body. There was no blood, and the creature seemed unperturbed by the wound it received. He struck the draugr again, and yet a third time with weighted blows that left him panting before the draugr finally fell to the ground.

Satisfied, Farkas turned his full attention to the draugr that was stepping out of its place in the wall with its sword and shield at the ready. It continued to curse at Farkas in guttural, dry syllables. Whatever it was trying to say, he paid it no mind. As the sword came down once again, Farkas blocked, then stepped to the side, smashing the ancient and termite-eaten shield to pieces easily. The iron plating that held the shield together was too rusted to hold at the strength of this blow. Farkas lunged forward and caught the draugr in the stomach with the tip of his sword, throwing his weight into the thrust to skewer the creature on it. The draugr snarled as it was lifted from the ground, but it too fell limp as soon as Farkas pull the blade free of its body.

“Keep moving!” Farkas turned to Airgiod and ordered. They could hear more shuffling footsteps and barking calls echoing from other chambers. The last thing they wanted was to be surrounded by the walking corpses. Breaking into a run, the two Nords worked their way through the first maze of death, cutting down any stray draugr as they went. They had almost made it to the end of the chamber; they could see a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall from the corner they had just turned, when a voice like thunder blasted through the crypt.

_”Fus… Roh DAH!”_

Farkas and Airgiod found themselves somehow thrown against the wall, their swords knocked out of their hands as they struggled to recover from the shock of the attack. Closing in on them was one last draugr. He was clad in full armor, which was surprisingly well preserved in comparison to some of the other pieces worn by the draugr which were barely tied to their bodies with rotting leather. This draugr also bore a helmet, which made him seem all the more intimidating. His blue eyes were hidden in the shadow that his helmet played against his sallow, sunken skin. Unafraid, Farkas crawled forward and grabbed his sword from where it had fallen and jumped to his feet, attacking the draugr. The draugr blocked the attack with a much more sturdy shield, and shoved him back. The corpse lifted his hand which was glowing red with concentrated magicka, and thrust it towards Farkas. Flame erupted from his palm and engulfed Farkas for a moment. Farkas stumbled back quickly, feeling the heat surround his body. He fell to the ground once again, only now noticing that Airgiod had not moved.

Airgiod was sitting and staring at the draugr in either horror or amazement. Had the ancient, dead Nord’s strange magic broken Airgiod’s will? The draugr’s icy eyes fell on Airgiod, and a strange noise erupted from its gut. Farkas had feeling that it was a laugh, as rasped and rough as stone against stone. Unfeeling.

“Kriist ahrk krif, kaal do keizaal! Zeymah do dovah!” The draugr wheezed, drawing an ancient sword from its belt and raising it to point at Airgiod. Farkas couldn’t make out recognizable words from its dried throat, but he could sense the mockery in its tone. Still in a state of shock, Airgiod reached for his greatsword and grabbed it. He rose from the dirty floor without breaking eye contact with the draugr. Farkas thought he saw the draugr’s lips twitch in an attempt to smirk, but the skin was too taught to tell.

Airgiod took a step forward, then another, then he broke into a jog, holding the greatsword in front of him like a spear. The draugr took a step to the side and deflected the blow so it glanced harmlessly away. It laughed mockingly again, but it failed to notice that what it had done was allow Airgiod to take up a position from behind, where the draugr’s shield wasn’t facing. Airgiod spun around quickly and thrust his sword through the back of the draugr, who screamed in outrage, then pulled back to deliver another blow, knocking the draugr to the floor with a gash down its back that almost split it in two. It did not rise again.

Stumbling backwards and whistling, Airgiod wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and grinned at Farkas. “That was close, wasn’t it?”

Getting to his feet once again, Farkas growled. “What happened just then? Lose your nerve?”

Airgiod threw his arms to his sides and shrugged, still smiling casually. Too casually? Perhaps. Farkas wasn’t one to waste time trying to read people in the middle of a battle. “I guess. Those things are unsettling, aren’t they? Long dead men brought back to life through some dark art? No thank you.”

Farkas watched Airgiod as they walked to the door and opened it, continuing further inside. He wasn’t convinced by his excuse, but he could not call him a coward. Before they had encountered the more powerful draugr, Airgiod had been unphased by the undead. Farkas only bothered to try puzzling it out until they reached the next room, because the task at hand was more important than whatever had already happened.

They descended approximately 20 more feet underground before they came to another large room. It was large and vaguely circular, with a grate that opened overhead to the surface. Rainwater poured down from it and landed on a platform in the center of the room, where it was absorbed by all manners of plants and ferns that had begun to grow where the sun could still reach. On one side of the room, there was an empty throne and an enchanting table. In the other direction, Farkas assumed was where their path continued, but the way was barred. 

Farkas walked over to the throne, thinking that it was important enough to hide some sort of switch to open the door for them. Airgiod left Farkas’s side. He looked up and watched the young man wander into a room to the right of the throne. The new blood had apparently sniffed out a few potions and, by the way his face lit up after shaking the bottles, they were fresh and still of use. He quickly pocketed the treasures and continued to look around the room for more spoils. Farkas returned his attention to his own search, allowing Airgiod to do as he saw fit.

Farkas then heard a triumphant laugh, followed by a grinding sound, and then the echo of metal against stone. When Farkas looked again, the bars that had kept them from proceeding to the next chamber were gone, but Airgiod now stood with his hands gripping a new set of metal bars that had trapped him inside the smaller side room. He looked quite forlorn to be trapped like a caged rat, and the triumph from earlier was gone completely. 

Farkas couldn’t help but tease the new blood as he jogged over to check on him. He was uninjured, aside from his pride. “Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into. No worries. Just sit tight. I’ll find the release.”

Airgiod sheepishly muttered a thank you, and something about being lucky that Farkas was with him to help him get out of the cage, and something else about the stupid traps that the ancient Nords installed in all of their crypts and Farkas grinned. It wasn’t Airgiod’s own fault, really. It seemed as though this ancient Nord trap was designed to trap the curious and unwary plunderer just as Airgiod had done to himself. It may be humiliating now, but this was exactly the reason why the Companions always had a Shield-Brother or Sister on all of their excursions. They watched each other’s backs and helped each other out when they were in trouble. 

The sound of rushed footsteps echoed into the room. They were not clumsy and plodding like those of the draugr, but swift and precise. Footsteps of the living. Farkas turned so his back faced Airgiod, drawing his sword as a small company of warriors ran from the newly opened passage and surrounded him. There were five of them total, and they all bore silver swords. Farkas snarled at the company before him. So. This was the reason why the some of the draugr laid slain in the halls and the rest had fled, only to awaken with double the rage at the intrusion of two men who didn’t have silver weapons that seared the flesh of the undead, and of beasts of the night.

“It’s time to die, dog.” the man who was clearly the leader of this small group announced, sneering at Farkas. He was bigger, stronger, and more confident than the others. He clearly thought himself a great warrior by the way his war paint decorated his shaven skull.

Farkas only gripped his sword more tightly and bared his teeth in defiance of the Silver Hand. He took a step forward to show he was not afraid to face them. 

“We knew you’d be coming here.” Yet another warrior jeered as he brandished the silver blade in his hand, pointing it towards Farkas threateningly. It was a silent instruction to stay back. “Your mistake, Companion.”

Farkas’s eyes darted over the five warriors as they stepped closer, closing him in a circle. So. They had figured out their secret. That hadn’t taken long. But if they thought that Farkas would give in without a fight, they were mistaken. He would rather die here in a blaze of glory than be captured and subjected to the torture the Silver Hands were rumored to inflict on its victims.

“Which one is that?” a woman’s voice inclined, causing Farkas’s head to wheel around. Two of the Silver Hand warriors were now looking at Airgiod who was still trapped, clueless, and completely helpless in his cage.

“It doesn’t matter. He wears that armor, he dies.”

Farkas growled and quickly stepped back towards the cage, letting it be known that they would have to cut him down before they would be allowed to make some sort of sick game out of shooting a completely defenceless man inside a cage full of arrows. He wasn’t about to allow his Shield-Brother to fall so shamefully, after having come so close to earning himself glory. He could hear the quickening breath of Airgiod behind him as the man pressed against the cage and reached out to rest a hand on Farkas’s shoulder. He could not fight alongside Farkas, and for that he was deeply apologetic, but also grateful that Farkas was willing to fight off these strangers instead of just fleeing to spare his own life.

“Killing you will make for an excellent story.” One of the Silver Hand warriors laughed as the five of them followed Farkas, pinning him against the cage. They seemed thrilled by the idea of making the helpless young blood watch as his Shield-Brother was chopped to pieces. They were right on their assumptions. One man against five, all with deadly silver swords? And while defending another? It simply could not be done. Thankfully, Farkas was not just a man.

“None of you will be alive to tell it.” Farkas snarled, dropping his sword to the ground. The loud clatter of metal striking the stone floor echoed and rang off up and around the room. 

Farkas heard Airgiod call his name, and he saw the Silver Hand warriors’ eyes widen in fear, and then rage as they shouted at each other to attack before he could make the change. But these sounds were all muffled by the pounding of blood in his ears and his chest. The thrill seeped through his entire body and his limbs, and his skin crawled as each of his senses were suddenly heightened. He could smell the blood in the five aggressors before him. It made him ravenous. He lurched forward, his back hunched as his limbs extended, his nails turned to claws. His tongue could feel his mouth elongating as his teeth growing sharper. He let out a vicious battle roar as soon as he felt the changes cease. The Silver Hand was on him in the blink of an eye.

He took a swing at the leader, throwing him across the room and into the wall with his front fully eviscerated. His limp body hit the floor and red blood pooled between the stones, winding in patterns to match the masonry. He turned on the next two, they were close ready to strike. The attack stopped as soon as one of their heads was knocked clean off of his shoulders and the blood splattered onto his companion’s face. The third warrior died with a great claw ripping through its chest, clenching all of the slippery innards it could get a grip on, and tearing them out of his body while the other claw anchored the body in place against the floor. The remaining two had fallen back with bows at the ready. Farkas howled as an arrow cut through the air and stuck into his shoulder. The bowman was soon staring down a black mass with glowing red eyes and bright white teeth before he, too, found himself on the floor, choking and gurgling as the teeth closed around his throat. The last to die drew her sword once again, readying herself for the final confrontation. She screamed at the top of her lungs; perhaps the mightiest battle cry she had ever given, but it was lost to the sound of Farkas’s answering roar. The next thing she knew, she was screaming in agony as her sword and her arm had been ripped from her body. She fell to her knees and Farkas silenced her by pinning her to the floor and slashing her body with his claws until there was little left.

Now, onto his original task now that the distraction had been dealt with. He shook out his fur and trotted into the new passageway. The scent of the Silver Hand warriors was stronger in here, as though they had spent some time standing around. He assumed that, since there was no release lever or switch in the throne room, it must be located here. Sure enough, he found a lever resting atop a pedestal on the left wall. He sniffed it once, then gripped the handle with his paw and pushed it in the other direction. Chains and pulleys inside the walls rattled and squeaked as the door in the next room opened. Success. No longer needing to stay in his beast form, Farkas let the strength of the beast slip his grasp. The power left him and he returned to normal.

Farkas entered the chamber to find that Airgiod had just left the side room and was stepping around the bloody remains of their foes, shattered to pieces, on the floor. He was staring at the bodies with wide eyes, and as soon as Farkas appeared, he looked up. Farkas then felt regret for his actions as Airgiod stared at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. The secret of The Circle was not meant to be known by regular Companions, and especially not to any new blood. Certainly not in such a graphic and violent manner.

“I hope I didn’t scare you…” Farkas tried to joke.

Airgiod remained silent for a moment, his attention drifting back to the bodies, then up to Farkas suddenly. “What was that?!”

“It’s a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome.” Farkas explained, watching just in case Airgiod felt compelled to take up one of the silver swords at his feet.

“...You’re going to make me a werewolf…?” Airgiod asked. There was something of a thrill behind his words as he spoke.

“Oh no, only The Circle have the beastblood.” Farkas breathed with relief. If that was Airgiod’s next question, then he was in the clear. If he had been planning on attacking Farkas, he would have done so by now. “Prove your honor to be a Companion.”

“Oh....” Airgiod trailed off, looking down at the bodies once again. Farkas might have laughed at his expression. It almost seemed as though a small piece of Airgiod was disappointed by this news. It would seem as though this Nord was more at home with the Companions than anyone but Kodlak himself might have guessed. He clapped Airgiod on the back. “‘Eyes on the prey, not the horizon.’ We should keep moving. Still the draugr to worry about.”


	2. Along Came a Spider...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were going well for Airgiod and Farkas. They had settled into a rhythm of killing both draugr and Silver Hand goons together. It seemed easy. Little did they know that they would face a challenge greater than either of them were prepared for deep within the frozen caves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it seemed to make more sense to upload the entire Proving Honor quest in chapters, since they go immediately together, so that's what's up. 
> 
> Also, I friggin hate Frostbite Spiders. Seriously. Oh my GOD. So creepy. I recently had the opportunity to play Skyrim VR, too... lemme tell yah... THREE DIMENSIONS DOES NOTHING TO HELP A FEAR OF SPIDERS. I had to make Airgiod share my fear of these monsters, because I'm so much of a baby when I play... I don't like when they jump at me from off-screen! Scares the crap out of me every time. I usually have to hang back and let whichever follower I have at the time finish them off... Except for Farkas. I can be brave for Farkas. We can be brave together. 
> 
> Two big dumb strong Nords holding hands and sniffling in fear as they enter a spider cave while Vilkas watches in disbelief and annoyance. Can you imagine...

Dustman’s Cairn was alive with the sounds of battle between the living that day. The two Nord Warriors, Airgiod and Farkas, cut their way through party after party of Silver Hand men and women as they sought their treasure; a lost fragment of the weapon of Ysgramor himself. Their progress had been hindered three times, but now they knew what they were up against. The Silver Hand, the draugr, and the ancient traps could only slow them down for so long. Farkas was so pleased with their progress, that he allowed himself the chance to fall back during a few of the battles to observe Airgiod’s technique. It was easy to see how the young Nord had defeated Vilkas in the training yard on that night so long ago. He had more than plenty the strength and skill to use the blade he carried. An unexpected bonus, Farkas thought. It was much more efficient to fight with someone than for them.

When they slowed to a stop again, Airgiod was feeling confident in himself. The two were in a large, long room lined with sarcophogi of ancient Nord warriors, none of which seemed likely to stir from their rest. The ones that had were apparently already dispatched by the Silver Hand.  
What stood before them now was a wooden door. The first they had encountered to be locked. Farkas frowned and stared at the door, wondering if it would be worth the time to break their way through. It was risky. Deliberately desecrating the cairn might incite the remaining dead to take up arms against them. Airgiod was not concerned.

“If it’s locked, there has to be a key around here, right?” Airgiod asked, grinning from ear to ear while standing behind Farkas.

“If it’s not barred.” Farkas added, still weighing their chances of forcing their way through. “Or if it is meant to stay locked.”

“It doesn’t hurt to look.” Airgiod said as he turned on his heel and explored the room. It was dusty. It was old. It reeked of decay and mold. And spiderwebs covered all of the corners. He made a face as he looked along the walls and at the draugr on the floor. Was it possible that one of them had been guarding they key? It made enough sense to him that he bent down and started searching one of the more heavily armored draugr.

“What are you doing?!” 

Airgiod froze and looked towards Farkas, who was frowning at him. He stood up quickly and wiped his hand on the side of his armor. “I wasn’t doing anything weird! I was just checking to see if one of them had a key!”

Farkas narrowed his eyes. He supposed that was a fair enough reason to be sliding your hands over a corpse. He had just wanted to be sure. Looting the dead wasn’t exactly a noble practice. “Alright, fine…”

Airgiod looked back down at the body at his feet. He was less enthused about the idea of checking all of the corpses now. It had seemed like a good idea at the time because he had thought of it, and no one had opposed him to start. Now, he seemed to be more aware of the fact that he was indeed getting rather intimate with a body that had begun to rot long before he was even born. He looked around the room once more, hoping to find anything else that could possibly hide a key other than a draugr. There. Hidden by shadow, there stood an old but elaborately decorated chest. Airgiod stumbled forward, tripping on the draugr out of blind anticipation to get to his discovery. Farkas looked in his direction again, but Airgiod had caught himself before he had fallen beside, or-divines forbid-on top of the draugr. That would have been an awkward situation to talk himself out of. He jogged over to the chest and used both hands to open it.

The chest had been covered in a blanket of dust that had not been disturbed since it was left in the cairn, but the treasures laid inside were as pristine as ever. A few small iron weapons laid at the bottom of the chest, along with a small bag of gold and an old key.

“Aha!” Airgiod exclaimed as he scooped the key and the bag of gold out of the chest. He pocketed the gold quickly and dashed back to Farkas’s side, holding the key out for the Companion to see. Farkas noticed that he was once again grinning from ear to ear. 

“Try it.” Farkas submitted as he stepped away from the door. Airgiod moved forward and inserted the key into the lock. The tumblers clicked and the Airgiod pushed the doors open with little effort. Farkas knew that gloating wasn’t Airgiod’s style. He wasn’t a vain man. Airgiod was incredibly thrillable, though. Some might mistake his celebration of a task well done as gloating. Farkas expected Airgiod to turn around and do just that, but they both stopped and listened. As the sound of the creaking doors died down, they could hear a distant rustling. Almost like wind through a field of fine blades of grass, but there was indeed no grass in the cairn. The sound faded, and was replaced by a soft scratching noise which grew louder. 

Airgiod jumped when a pack of large skeevers poured out of a doorway, hissing loudly as they scurried territorially towards the two intruders. Farkas gagged. He could smell the stench of their uncleaned, corpse-eating bodies from where he stood. Disease ridden pests. One bite from a skeever could mean the end of any man, though it would be a slow and painful death that was sure to involve the bitten limb to fall off. The both pulled out their swords and got to work cutting the large rodents down before they got close enough to inflict any horrible plagues on the two of them.

“Disgusting.” Farkas frowned, grabbing a linen wrap from a shelf against the wall to wipe the filth off of his sword. He held the linen out to Airgiod, only to find the man was not standing next to him. Instead, Farkas found Airgiod instead on his knees with a knife, cutting the tails off of the skeevers and wrapping them carefully.

Airgiod caught Farkas watching him, but this time he did not back away from his task. “You give me that look, but skeever tails can be used to make some pretty powerful potions, and I am currently very short on coin. As long as these little monsters are already dead, I’m not wasting this chance.”

“You’re an alchemist?” Farkas asked, surprised. Airgiod did not remind him much of Farengar or Arcadia. 

“I dabble.” Airgiod packed the tails away into his bag. “It’s good to know the basics, especially with the prices of basic medicine on the rise thanks to the Stormcloaks and Imperials buying up what they can.”

Farkas shrugged in passive agreement. It probably was good for the lone wanderer to know how to take care of himself. It wasn’t as though he had a pack to look after him. Besides, Airgiod did seem to have a sound argument. 

Airgiod lifted the bag off of the ground once he was satisfied, then he smiled at Farkas. “Thanks for not questioning me about why I’m broke.”

“Not my business. I assumed you spent all your money on food or mead.” Farkas shrugged again, which caused Airgiod to laugh.

“You’re not far off…” Airgiod said, covering his mouth to stifle the sound of his laughter, especially since the rustling noise from earlier had started up again. The two Nords looked ahead gravely, but continued onwards. This time, in relative silence and at a slower pace.

“What do you think that noise is?” Airgiod asked Farkas as they continued through the cairn.

“Could be a lot of things.” Farkas said simply, grabbing a torch from a wall sconce just in case. Fire was always handy, since most things feared it. They turned into another hallway, then stopped. The ceiling had completely collapsed some time ago, blocking the main path through the manmade cairn with rubble and debris. There was no way to get through other than a small gap in the side of the wall. Where it lead to, neither of them could be certain, but there was cold air pouring out from the crevice.

“Looks like it’s only wide enough for one man.” Airgiod said, stepping forward to get a better look. Frowning, he sighed. “Guess I’ll go first, since this is my Trial.”

Farkas handed the torch off to Airgiod and watched as he slipped inside the crevice. Farkas then followed behind. It was a tight fit with their armor, but the two large men managed to squeeze through. After the opening, the tunnel widened out enough for them to walk normally, but there still wasn’t enough space to walk side by side. The rustling sound was louder than it had been before. What was at the end of this winding tunnel? 

Airgiod stopped at the exit, poking his head out into a large cavern. They could hear running water from somewhere inside. Airgiod stepped out from the small passage, and Farkas stepped forwards to follow him. Airgiod looked to his right and the color immediately drained from his face.

“Oh Gods, NO-!!” Airgiod exclaimed in terror as he turned around and bolted. He ran into Farkas and the two of them stumbled and hit the floor. Farkas then saw what Airgiod was trying so desperately to flee from. 

Descending from the cave wall like a hideously twisted shadow was a brood of frostbite spiders. Large as wolves but more vicious and with no compassion, these large arachnids fed on whatever they could trap in their webs or run down and poison. The spiders made a frightful sound as they crawled towards Farkas and Airgiod, but the worst was still to come. Behind the first line of spiders stood one that was at least five times the size of the others. It stood taller than Farkas. Its mandibles dripped with venom and digestive juices as it closed in on its prey. Farkas was hypnotized by the black marbles that were the arachnid’s eyes. They were empty like death. It was almost upon the when Farkas came back to his senses. He waved the torch like a sword in front of them, brandishing it at the spiders. There was raucous sound of about 48 hairy legs fleeing from the flames as the smaller spiders were frightened away. The one gigantic arachnid only raised on its hind four legs, drawing two legs close to its thorax as it cringed, and used the other two to swat angrily at the torch. 

“Quickly! Back through the tunnel!” Farkas instructed, grabbing Airgiod by the back of his armor and lifting to his feet. The nords bolted for the tunnel entrance, but slid to a stop when they found a small frostbite spider sitting over their exit. It hissed at them and clacked its mandibles angrily, and neither Nord had the strength of will to try to slip passed it. The giant spider was closing in on them from behind, but it knew its prey was swift. It spat a wad of corrosive poison to wound the fleshy surface dwellers enough to catch and devour.

Airgiod saw the projectile and he shoved Farkas to the side. The two of them barely managed to tumble behind a pillar of rock to avoid their fate. The poison sizzled against the rock, the digestive acid already working its way into the solid surface. From deeper inside the cave, Airgiod and Farkas heard the sound of bones cracking in their joints, and gravely coughs and unintelligible commands.

“Draugr?! Now?!” Airgiod exclaimed in exasperation, pulling his sword and holding it close to himself with his back pressed tightly against the pillar. He knew they would have to move shortly, the spiders would find them. Farkas shared the sentiment, though he didn’t voice it. He had never particularly liked spiders, but then again, he had never dealt with any that were bigger than he was. He had never been forced to look at the detail of their faces. How they were stuck on their horrible bodies. The eyes, the fangs that twitched and moved independently, the 8 hair covered and claw tipped legs, the smell of death that wafted from their maws… It was far more than he had bargained for in coming down here. 

“We can’t fight all these enemies at once. Draugr means the rest of the cairn. The big guy won’t fit through any doors.” Farkas explained quickly. He swallowed as he heard the screeching of the spiders drawing closer, and the hair rustling as their bodies moved.

“So we make a break for it and hope for the best…” Airgiod nodded. “I won’t lie to you, I am more than happy to pass up vanquishing these particular foes…”

Farkas felt like he couldn’t agree more, he stood at the edge of the pillar and waited for the right moment to make their run, holding out a hand to signal Airgiod when the time came. Suddenly, as he was about to signal, Airgiod snatched the torch back from Farkas and jumped out from behind the pillar. The spiders shrieked loudly and charged at him as soon as they saw him standing there. He gritted his teeth and made a loud, guttural sound mixed with fear and resolve as he threw the torch down on the cave floor. The webs that had covered the entire cave from top to bottom lit like kindling and the arachnids howled as the horrible flames surrounded them.

“Come on, let’s go!” Airgiod called to Farkas desperately, knowing that the flames would soon go out at the rate they were burning through the spiderweb. Farkas ran out from behind the pillar and followed Airgiod as quickly as he could deeper into the cavern. The floor sloped downwards suddenly, and their feet hit freezing water from an underground spring. It only slowed them for a moment, as the spiders had resumed the chase. The freezing river had cut a deep path through this part of the cave over many years, and the banks alongside them rose up over their heads. In some places, there was even natural rock bridges that hung over the river. What could have been very beautiful turned into a nightmare as the frostbite spiders used these ledges and bridges to ambush Farkas and Airgiod from above. 

The Nords fought their way through the stream, cringing every time a spider lunged from above to be skewered by one of their swords. None of the smaller spiders stood much of a chance against their combined paranoia and vigilance, but the real reason they remained sharp and alert was because they knew the giant spider had not yet reappeared. 

They were almost at the end of the small chasm where the stream dove back into the earth when a black, hairy mass suddenly dropped from the ceiling. Airgiod yelled in alarm as the two men instinctively ducked, which saved their lives. Though they were now pressed against the freezing water, the giant frostbite spider’s body was too large to squeeze its hulking mass into the small riverbed. It hissed angrily and tried to paw at Farkas and Airgiod with its legs, while it repositioned itself time and time again in hopes of getting a better angle. Airgiod and Farkas threw themselves into the river and against the walls to get away from the hooked ends of the spider’s legs. The assault wouldn’t let up long enough for either of them to get to their feet and continue running. Trapped in the freezing water with a ravenous spider grappling for their bodies, Farkas and Airgiod were growing desperate. 

At the end of the cavern, the two Nord companions could see the light of fire dancing off of the damp walls; flames from torches and candles. This meant that the cavern they had been forced into did indeed connect back to the rest of the cairn, but their exit to relative safety was too far off to try for a mad dash. The giant arachnid would surely run them down with its massive legs, and their bodies would join the corpses wrapped in sticky silk that hung from the walls and ceilings. They were also unsure if they should even bother sprinting into the cairn ahead, as they saw shadows breaking the light of the flames on the wall. The shadows were long and moved unnaturally, casting deformed shapes along the rocks and earth. If the rasping growls that echoed into the spider lair could be trusted, all that was waiting for Airgiod and Farkas were more draugr that had been awakened to the excited, hungered noises their neighbors had made.

Farkas was at a loss. He knew staying hunkered down against the freezing mountain stream was useless, and would eventually slow their reflexes enough for the frostbite spider to grab them. He knew they couldn’t outrun the beast. He knew if they did somehow keep ahead of it and return to the narrower halls of the cairn, they would be too out of breath to fight whatever small army of the undead that had amassed to meet them. Perhaps if Farkas transformed, he would have the strength to rip the legs from the spider’s body and still have the energy to fight through the cairn, but he had already used his one transformation for the day. The beast in him had already gone back to sleep and would not wake again even if he tried to call. Their only option was to fight off the spider here, but he was loathed to take on that task. The way the spider’s mandibles clacked together in anticipation of placing the alien appendages around their bodies made Farkas’s skin crawl. Every time the creature lunged, he could see it’s face and smell the stench of decay hanging over its body. He hated the nightmarish creature that taunted them from the darkness above. He knew Airgiod was feeling the same way.

Airgiod was huddled against the riverbed, his greatsword clutched tightly in both of his shaking hands. His face was pale and Farkas could see the whites of his eyes even in the dim light of the cave. Every time Airgiod drew enough courage to look up at the spider, he quickly looked away and shuffled out of its reach. Farkas knew that Airgiod was no milk-drinker. This man had taken on every task that had been given to him from The Circle, and done so without hesitation or a hint of fear. He had cleared out bandit camps, bear caves, and faced the gods only knew what else in his travels. Knowing that a giant frostbite spider could make this warrior crack only put Farkas even further over the edge into terror. They were doomed.

Whether it was a sudden burst of courage or overwhelming panic, Farkas never knew. All he saw was movement out of the corner of his eye. Airgiod held up his sword and looked towards the spider. His gaze stuck like the webs that had lined the tunnel, and he did not flinch this time. His lips moved with silent curses and his head nodded in time with the lunging of the spider above them. Finally, as the arachnid knocked loose some of the rock and slid into the chasm to reach its prey, Airgiod gripped his sword and held it fast. He barely needed to thrust, but out of instinct or fear, he did anyway. A cold, hissing shriek echoed off of the walls and died quickly as the blade pierced up into the abdomen of the spider. The combined strength of the adversaries drove the blade through the exoskeleton and into the body.

Farkas felt an involentary tremor run through his body at the sight and sound of the wounded spider. He jumped to his feet, his sword clasped tightly in his hands as the creature hissed and shuffled away. The wound on its belly made its movements even more jarring. Farkas felt the spider staring at them both with its eight black eyes, and it made his skin crawl. He hated those eyes and how they drained all light and good from the world. Held in its gaze, Farkas hadn’t realized the spider hauling itself back onto its legs and balancing as well as it could with it’s grave wounds. With a shrieking sound, it threw its legs towards Farkas with it maw wide and dripping with fluid. Farkas didn’t think. He raised his sword and brought it down between the black cluster of eyes. His sword stopped moving as it wedged itself deep in the carapace. He felt it jerk in his hands as the spider fell. The hideous legs curled slowly in towards it’s leaking body.

Farkas grabbed Airgiod by the shoulder and helped to pull him back as the corpse of the spider rocked dangerously close to the man. Neither warrior wanted to be trapped under its dead body, or have to pull the other out from under it and so they clung to each other for dear life as they moved out of its way. Airgiod scrambled to his feet once he was far enough away from the motionless carapace to be satisfied and exchanged a wide-eyed look with Farkas.

“I don’t like spiders… never have... the big ones are so much worse.” Airgiod managed to say while he tried his best to regulate his breathing. Farkas could honestly say that he agreed with Airgiod, but there was no time to agree with him. They heard the shuffling feet moving closer from behind them. The draugr were moving in. 

Adrenaline still coursing through their veins, and no gargantuan monstrosities to fear, Farkas and Airgiod found the second round of their cavern battle to be much more manageable. In fact, they were almost happy to cut down the undead together. It seemed so easy after their last encounter, they could hardly recall why they had ever been cautious of the undead to begin with. As the two Nords made their way through the cairn, they were practically laughing at how easy the rest of their way had suddenly become. Neither man had any doubt in his mind that the fragment of Wuuthrad would soon be in the possession of the Companions. Surely, there was nothing left in the cairn that could prove to be a greater challenge than the horrible spider nest.


	3. Should Have Said Something Sooner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Airgiod and Farkas finally make their way to the missing fragment of Wuuthrad. They also find something far more ancient and mysterious than a piece of the weapon of the first Companion... and Airgiod finds himself in an awkward position in need of some explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINAL CHAPTER-! Well maybe not? There might be a fourth? I just gotta figure out how I want to stick it in. It needs editing. Yeah. 
> 
> Anyway, have fun? I know I enjoyed writing this chapter. Draugr are great fun. Easy to deal with in game, but super cool to write about. Zombies meet White Walkers, am I right? Hell yeah. And this part? FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WHY ARE THERE SO MANY DRAUGR???

Farkas wiped the blade of his sword on his sleeve, checking to see if it had been damaged in the last skirmish with what appeared to be the last of the draugr. One of the undead warriors had blocked his blow with its iron shield, and the sound that rang from the impact had sounded strange to Farkas. He wasn’t sure if he had chipped his blade or if the shield had just been impossibly old. Skyforge steel was durable and Eorlund was a great smith, but it had been some time since Farkas had brought his weaponry to Eorlund for a good sharpening. It was difficult to see in the light of the fires that illuminated the otherwise dark halls. The fires were for the dead, not for the eyes of the living. The dead didn’t need to see. He would have to wait to check his blade, as squinting in the half-light was doing him no good.

Airgiod stood waiting for him before an intricately designed iron door. The patterns and shapes inlaid in the metal would have been breathtaking for someone like Vilkas, who was head over heels in love with the history of Skyrim. Thankfully, Vilkas was not here to slow their progress. When Farkas saw a door like this, his only thought that there was something important behind it. Airgiod knew this, too. He hadn’t tried to press on ahead without Farkas.

“Is your sword damaged?” Airgiod asked. He leaned in closer to look at Farkas’s blade with some concern. 

“Can’t tell. Too dark.” Farkas simply shrugged as he carefully placed it back in his sheath and looked up at the door expectantly. If damage had been done, it wasn’t bad enough that Farkas would be rendered weaponless. It would last for the rest of the Trial.

Airgiod nodded in understanding. He rubbed his hands together and placed them on each side of the door. With a push, the doors slowly opened. The hinges were old and the door itself was heavy, so it made a groaning sound that echoed into the room that was suddenly revealed to them. Airgiod stopped and gasped as he took in the sight before them. Farkas was also impressed, but not as audibly so. Together, they walked slowly into the room.

Just beyond the door was a short hallway with a towering ceiling that reached almost beyond what their eyes could see in the dim light. The wall was broken into arched segments that were indented into the wall to hold ancient standing sarcophagi in each slot. Just a few paces ahead, the hall opened into a great room. From the ceiling, an iron chandelier hung by a chain. Time had rusted the metal, but it was still strong enough to keep the fixture safely aloft. At the center of the room, stairs rose up to a grand platform. This was the burial chamber for the lord of all of the undead warriors. His tomb laid alone, framed by two basins lit with fire. Farkas bowed his head slightly to honor the warrior. This structure was how he had been honored in his death. 

The stairs rose behind the coffin of stone up to yet another level. There, Farkas could see a grand pedestal littered with trinkets and valuables to honor the dead. Surrounding the pedestal was a wall, curved at the sides. There were no breaks in the wall itself, meaning it had been meticulously carved and decorated from the very rock that the tomb rested in. On the surface of the wall were what Farkas knew to be letters, carved out by what looked almost to be claws. That was where the fragment of Wuuthrad would be.

This was not his first time seeing such a wall, so he mostly ignored it as he began his approach. Farkas made his way halfway up the first set of steps before he realised that he was walking alone. This wouldn’t do. Airgiod was meant to be the one to retrieve the fragment to prove his worth. What had drawn the young man’s attention this time? Airgiod was so distractable...

Airgiod was still in the hallway, frozen mid-step and staring at the wall. His eyes were wide and questioning, and his head was tilted to the side as if listening for something. It was strange. Farkas looked around and listened as well, but he heard nothing.

“Problem, new blood?” Farkas finally asked.

Airgiod shook himself out of his trance and turned his gaze towards Farkas, who frowned slightly. He could sense thousands of questions boiling in Airgiod’s mind, and Farkas was not the type of man who answered questions well.

“...You don’t hear that?” Airgiod inquired slowly, still listening.

Farkas shook his head. Whatever “that” was didn’t matter. Farkas heard nothing out of the ordinary. Wind blowing in the distant tunnels, the scurrying of rat feet, and the occasional drip of groundwater perhaps. Far more than Airgiod could with his human ears, but not what Airgiod might be hinting towards. Nothing to cause him to stop.

“...What is that over there? That wall?” Airgiod pointed towards the wall as he slowly entered the room to join Farkas.

“Not really sure. No one is.” Farkas shrugged. This was definitely a question for Vilkas to answer, though he knew Vilkas would not. “The Ancient Nords made them. They’re usually out of the way or in dangerous places so no one really gets a chance to figure them out. Got something to do with the dragons, though.”

Airgiod stopped again, glancing towards Farkas. He looked as though he was determining whether he should take a step away. He was hesitating for some reason. Maybe the ancient magic of the Nords made him jumpy. That would explain it. Lots of foreigners grew anxious when faced with the lost arts. While Airgiod was clearly a Nord by blood, he lacked any distinct Nord accent or verbal mannerisms. It made enough sense to Farkas that Airgiod might also be cautious of such unknowns. Farkas himself had a distrust of magic, though it was partly a learned distrust thanks to Vilkas. He understood. He inclined his head towards the table encouragingly, and Airgiod finally stepped forward.

Once standing at the same level as the table, they could see a small broken chunk of an axe resting upon a display upon the table. It was elevated from the other items, showing its importance and drawing their eyes immediately. Airgiod hesitated and looked back to Farkas again. Farkas nodded his approval, letting Airgiod know that he had earned the right to retrieve the piece. Airgiod drew himself up straight and walked forward, reaching out for the fragment.  
As Airgiod drew closer, Farkas felt his heart pounding louder and louder. It grew so loud that he could hear it. Like the steady beat of a war drum, marching a company of soldiers to a great battle. But it wasn’t his heart. Farkas took his hand away from his chest where it had been resting to gauge his heartbeat. He glanced around, trying to listen to the rhythmic beat and determine where it was coming from. A sudden hot breeze hit his face and he looked forward towards the whispering breath of air. Airgiod was standing before the word wall, his eyes fixated on it. 

Like an echo from an age long since forgotten, the whisper of memory and chant of power came forth. It was not a sound in the room, but a reverberance in his mind. He could hear the voices in the wind that blew through his hair, speaking softly, and the rhythm of an ancient chant that coaxed him closer. But he knew the voices spoke to another, not to him. 

Farkas watched, wide eyed as a section of the illegible words on the wall started to glow. The light in the room seemed to drain away as though consumed by the word. It was a cold blue color that shone through the carvings. Farkas had seen Eorlund at the Skyforge work a fire so hot that the flames turned as cold and blue as the ice flows in the northern ocean. The light behind the wall reminded Farkas of that blue flame. Tendrils of the blue flame reached out from the wall and swirled around Airgiod, then through him, but Farkas was not afraid. Then, the breath was released. Like the string of a bow after an arrow is loosed, everything came snapping back. The light had returned, the room fell silent once again, but the feeling of strange power lingered. Or perhaps it had always been there, and Farkas only now noticed it. 

With the spell of the word wall broken, Farkas leapt up the stairs to join Airgiod and to see if he was unharmed. Caution overtook him and he stopped at the final step before calling out to the man who still stood next to the wall.

“New blood… Airgiod! Are you alright?” Farkas barked, glaring as he looked his Shield-Brother over for signs of injury or bewitchment.

Airgiod remained still for a moment, then turned to Farkas slowly. He looked almost embarrassed and ashamed of himself. It was utterly ridiculous, but at least he was unharmed.

“What happened?” Farkas asked, climbing up to Airgiod and pulling him away from the word wall. He would take no chances now that the two of them had made their way through so much together. For Airgiod to fail and lose his life now would be a devastating loss…. And Farkas no longer trusted the wall.

“I don’t really know…” Airgiod admitted slowly. He kept searching around the room, not wanting to meet Farkas’s eyes. “...Well, that’s not entirely true. I have an idea of what happened, but none of the details. As soon as I know those, I promise that you will be one of the first people I tell.”

Farkas must have scowled at Airgiod without being aware of it himself, because Airgiod glanced at him and recoiled more. Farkas hadn’t meant to glare, he simply wasn’t fond of double-speak. If he asked a simple question, he wanted a simple answer.

“You said that wall was carved out by the Ancient Nords? And it has something to do with the dragons, right?” Airgiod explained slowly, wringing his hands nervously while he talked.

“Yeah. I know that part.” Farkas replied.

Airgiod burst into a fit of soft, anxious laughter and shook his head. “I’m not used to explaining this yet, please bare with me for a moment… It all happened a lot faster than I had time to process, believe me. I mean, I was just some poor traveler a month ago. No one knew my name, I wasn’t anything special. I was expendable, even. I had even gotten myself arrested by a party of Imperials for being at the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Farkas watched Airgiod flounder with his explanation, his brows furrowing as it continued with no real resolution. He would get no answers unless he steered the conversation in the appropriate direction.

“Who are you now?” Farkas asked, a certain amount of annoyance in his voice.

Airgiod stopped and looked at Farkas almost helplessly. “I think I’m the Dragonborn.”

There was nothing. Farkas’s mind was completely blank. Whatever he had expected as an explanation, this certainly wasn’t it. Logicking it out from start to finish was impossible, so Farkas didn’t even try. He had no choice but to take Airgiod at his word. So that was what he did. In his mind, there was no reason not to. There was no reason for distrust between the two of them.

Seeing the look of surprise on Farkas’s face, Airgiod sighed guiltily and walked over to the table. He leaned against it heavily, lowering his head to collect his thoughts before lifting it again as he addressed Farkas a second time. “It isn’t as though I was trying to hide anything out of malice or spite. It’s just overwhelming to fulfill everyone’s expectations when I don’t know anything about this myself. People are expecting this grand hero, and yet I had to be told the legend of the Dragonborn because I had never heard it before. I just prefer not to bring it up. At least, not until I can figure out what I’m doing. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

Farkas thought he understood what Airgiod was saying. No one really knew anything about the Dragonborn, to be fair. Of course they would hassle him with questions and demands. Farkas at least understood how difficult it could be to have questions asked that you had no answers to. On the other hand, Farkas became steadily more aware of the fact that he had been mentoring the Dragonborn this entire time. No one was born with knowledge of all things, but it was still jarring to think that he had been the one to help the Dragonborn along.

“So.” Farkas said, leaning against the table next to Airgiod with his arms crossed. “The Western Watchtower. That was you?”

Airgiod looked over at Farkas and nodded slowly. “The dragon attack? Yeah, I was there. That was how I found out I was the Dragonborn. I had been doing a bit of leg work for the Jarl and his court wizard at the time of the attack, so the Jarl asked me to help in the battle. I don’t think I would have been asked to had I not been at Helgen during the first dragon attack.”

“Helgen, too? I heard it was burned to the ground. No survivors.” Farkas commented, surprised. Even he thought it was more than coincidental that Airgiod had been present for both dragon attacks. He just didn’t know what it meant. 

“There were a few. Just soldiers, though. I expect they reported to their commanding officers rather than to Whiterun.” Airgiod shrugged. “...Second attack, I knew what to expect and I had a weapon. It wasn’t any less intimidating, though.”

“You still slayed the dragon.” Farkas asserted.

“I suppose, but it wasn’t like I knew what I was doing. It was just blind luck and instinct. I didn’t have any special, magical powers or superhuman strength…” Airgiod protested. He seemed adamant in his belief that he was somehow unworthy of his title.

“Everyone starts out as a pup.” Farkas said. “Instinct and guidance from the pack is what makes a whelp grow into a strong wolf. It’s not until the wolf is strong that he can turn around and help the pack in return. It’s that way for everyone. Dragonborn too, I guess.”

Airgiod gave Farkas a thankful smile. It was subtle, and not entirely convinced. Farkas decided to add one more thing into their conversation, despite his dislike of talking.

“We watched the attack from the city walls. Saw the whole thing. Vilkas was impressed.” Farkas said with a level of perception that was not commonly attributed to him. He watched in satisfaction as Airgiod’s dejected demeanor changed to excitement.

“He was?” Airgiod asked.

Farkas nodded in reply. He pushed away from the table to return to their original task. The fragment still sat upon its stand, waiting patiently to be brought back to its home at Jorrvaskr. “Impress him again.”

Airgiod nearly flew with his eagerness. He snatched the fragment confidently from the pedestal and held it aloft to look at it. It was his trophy and the proof of his worth. With this fragment, he could start to fulfill the legacy he was meant to leave. Farkas found himself grinning as well. Airgiod had shown that he was a brave warrior, fearless in battle, and had honor enough to be wary of claiming a title such as “Dragonborn” before he felt he had earned it. If he was not worthy to be counted in the Companions, who of them was?

A loud thud reverberated in the room, causing the two men to turn in tandem. A second thud, like the muffled sound of steel against stone. A cloud of dust bloomed as the black lid of one of the coffins was forced off and fell heavily to the ground. Then a second, and a third. Blue eyes shone through the dust and locked directly on Farkas and Airgiod. The quickly drew their swords without a word and hurried down the steps to meet their opponents. As their steel met, more of the dead began to wake. 

The assault seemed endless, as the entire room was lined with coffins. The two Nords fought back to back as wave after wave of new, undead enemies charged towards them. Each wave left the two feeling increasingly tired. Farkas was grappling greatswords with a scarred draugr whose helmet bore a matching gash as its mummified face when Airgiod suddenly grabbed him by the back of his armor.

“Look out!” He cried as he gave Farkas a sturdy tug against the wall under a set of wooden stairs. Farkas heard the twang of a bowstring and the sound of an arrowhead clattering against the stone floor close by. Draugr on the second floor of the room had awoken. Why had they buried archers at the top of the room? Farkas was deeply irritated with the apparent pre-planning of the room and its tactical advantages. The other draugr followed Airgiod and Farkas to the wall, hoping gain an advantage now that they had nowhere to run to. Farkas readied himself for their assault, but Airgiod put a hand on his arm to stop him from charging forward to meet them.

_“Fus!”_

The draugr stopped their charge, staggering and stumbling backwards from the force of the shout. Airgiod then released Farkas’s arm and allowed him to jump into the fray now that he was no longer in the way. As Farkas busied himself with cutting down the enemies, he saw Airgiod slip up the stairs to the second floor to take care of the archers. Farkas was not insulted by being made the distraction, especially since Airgiod seemed much lighter on his feet than Farkas was. Even with his heavy armor, Airgiod was moving in on the archers and they were still none the wiser. He turned back to his own battle and hacked the arm of a shield carrying draugr clean off. He shook the arm from the straps and quickly put it on to block the second wave of arrows while Airgiod sprinted in from the stairs and slashed his way through the draugr one by one. 

When the last of the draugr bowmen fell, Airgiod leaned against one of the support columns and waved to Farkas below. He was smiling again, even laughing to himself. Farkas raised his hand in response, lowering his sword. They had indeed won a victory worthy of celebration. 

Airgiod’s face fell when the final loud thud knocked the lid of the central coffin from its home. Farkas only just had time to turn around as a gauntleted hand reached out of the coffin and pulled a mummified, but well armored draugr from its depths. The horns on its helm made it appear much taller than the other draugr that laid motionless around the room. One arm bore a shield and the other reached to its side and pulled out an ancient blade. It was glowing with a strange energy, meaning that it had been enchanted. With what, Farkas did not wish to find out. As if to spare Farkas his weapon, the draugr lord bore its teeth and sucked in a lungful of air on a rattle.

_“Fus roh da!”_

Farkas was flung against the wall, his sword knocking out of his hands. He felt a sharp pain in his arm as it was strained to its limits and finally forced out of its socket. He gritted his teeth as he sat up slowly, holding his shoulder to keep the arm from moving too much. He had told the other members of The Circle his arm had healed and that he was ready for jobs and assignments knowing full well that he was told to wait at least a few more weeks before swinging a sword. Vilkas was sure to be livid when he found out that Farkas had lied, but that didn’t seem to matter with the draugr bearing down on him. Though its old body had sustained enough injuries to cause it a distinct limp, the lord would soon be upon Farkas all the same. He doubted that Airgiod would make it down the stairs in time-

-The draugr crumpled to the floor with the force of some sort of fast moving object that had fallen from above. Farkas watched in astonishment as the draugr lord snarled in anger as it pushed the body of one of his fallen archers off of his back. A second figure then dropped from the second floor, landing behind the draugr and rolling on the floor to break the fall. Airgiod was back on his feet long before the draugr lord had managed to stand, and he hurried forward with his sword to engage the draugr.

The undead warrior raised its shield to block the attack, though it was strong and fueled with all the loyalty of a true Shield-Brother. The blow shattered the old bones of the draugr’s arm, and the shield fell limp at it’s side. Not yet defeated, the draugr took a swing at Airgiod’s midsection, causing him to leap back far enough for the draugr to get to its feet. Drawn up to its full height, Farkas could confirm that it was indeed taller than the other draugr, now that he had something for scale next to it. He watched as the draugr deathlord and the Dragonborn circled each other. 

Airgiod rushed again, but his thrust was parried to the side by the draugr blade and he stumbled. It was all the draugr needed to take the lead. It spun its body to the side, swung it’s shattered arm that was still strapped tightly into the its shield out like a flail and caught Airgiod on the side of the head. Airgiod fell to the ground, releasing his sword to catch himself before the stone floor could injure his head further. The draugr swiftly kicked the sword out of Airgoid’s reach as it moved forward for the finishing blow.

“Dragonborn-!” Farkas shouted, drawing not only Airgiod’s attention, but the draugr’s as well. The undead lord turned to look at Farkas, hissing between its blackened teeth. Farkas pulled a face at the draugr before he braced himself against the new spot on the wall he had shuffled to during the duel. He was sitting in front of his sword now, and with all of his strength, he kicked the sword towards Airgiod. It spun across the floor, and it had the momentum to make it all the way to Airgiod’s outstretched hand. The draugr lord moved forward and lifted a foot to intercept the weapon. For a moment, Farkas feared that the look in Airgiod’s eyes meant that his instinct had failed him at the last moment.

 _“FUS”_

The draugr lord lost its balance as it was just about to kick the sword away from Airgiod. The shout of the newly discovered Dragonborn was not as strong as the shout the draugr deathlord had demonstrated, but it was enough to send the heavily armored draugr toppling to the ground. Airgiod snatched the greatsword from the ground and kept up. It was now Airgiod that towered over the draugr, who looked up in surprise and fear as the blade of Farkas’s sword plunged through its breastplate and into its chest. Victorious, he stumbled back and braced himself on the empty coffin. There was a red stream of blood trickling down the side of his face.

“I thought your arm was healed.” Airgiod called to Farkas as soon as he caught his breath, the smile returning to his face despite the throbbing pain in his temple. He walked slowly over to the wall and offered Farkas a hand. Farkas accepted it gratefully, gripping Airgiod by the forearm and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

“You’re bleeding.” Farkas pointed out by way of response.

They were both badly bruised and in pain, but they were alive.

“It’s just a head wound. Definitely not the first time that’s happened to me.” Airgiod joked lightly, his smile growing. He reached into the small satchel at his belt and pulled out the fragment of Wuuthrad to show to Farkas. “So, you think I pulled it off?”

Farkas only shook his head and laughed gruffly. The whelp was growing up fast.


End file.
